Aro vs Dracula
by Dani Jones
Summary: Originally written for a contest; how Bram Stoker's 'Dracula' truly came to be. Was his work written on from fiction, or an observation? Aro meets Bram Stoker. Another spontaneous oneshot; give it a read. Toss me a review and tell me what you think.


_**A/N: I originally wrote this for a contest; it's supposed to be a flash fiction, but my mind ran away, and it far exceeded the limit. This won in said contest; read it and tell me if I'm worthy of my award. Let's take more of a figurative stance on 'Aro vs. Dracula', shall we?**_

_London, England, 1897_

"I've done it!" the poorly-dressed human burst into my office, smiling wildly. I looked over my gold-rimmed half-moon glasses—a ploy for the humans—from my work at the bizarre human. I smiled pleasantly to hide my annoyance.

"Found what?" I asked.

"Proof," the man replied.

"Mr. Stoker, I truly do not have time for this…"

"Please, sir! Please listen to me!"

I sighed quietly; inaudible for human ears. "Very well, but make it brief."

Mr. Stoker scuffled into the room and shrugged off his large and tattered overcoat. In his bony hands, he held a pile of papers; tied together with a single ribbon. I removed my half-moon spectacles and placed them gently on the desk; watching Mr. Stoker with wary eyes.

"I believe that I have found proof of vampires," he began, breathless.

I stiffened.

_WHAT?_

I stood from my desk slowly; eyeing Mr. Stoker without blinking.

Mr. Stoker plopped his numerous papers down on my desk, untying the ribbon with one motion, and spreading out the papers so that each one could be seen individually.

"They're creatures of the night—as we all know—but there is one that is different from the rest. He's…much darker, and more powerful. I guess you could say he's the overall leader without official appointment."

I stared at the man with my coal-black eyes; wishing for him to cease for the sake of his own life, and yet…I wished to hear how this insignificant little human could have possibly found _proof_.

He continued. "They call him Count; Count Vladislaus Dracula."

I had to work very hard to suppress a smirk. I'd never heard of such a creature, and I was grateful that Mr. Stoker was gravely mistaken about 'vampires'.

"Is this all?" I asked, still working to hide my smile.

"No, I have more," Mr. Stoker shuffled through his pile, pulling out a hand-written sheet. "I observed Dracula passing by a mirror, and the most peculiar thing happened! There was no…reflection! He also does not venture into the sun; for fear of bursting into flame!"

I stared incredulously at the bizarre wide-eyed man before me.

"…and what exactly turned you onto this?" I asked, replacing myself in my chair.

"Sir…I mean no offense, but since you and your brothers stopped into this town to settle for a while, I noticed that there was something…amiss."

I continued to stare at him again; unblinking and serious.

"Excuse me?" I whispered.

"Sir…I'm forced to be blunt; I made my observations…from you and your brothers."

The room fell silent; completely so.

He made his observations from _us_?

I was caught between complete shock and amusement; even though he had detected something amiss with my brothers and me, his observations were _very_ askew. Mirrors? Honestly?

"You and your brothers never go out into the sunlight; and I believe it is because you will burst into flame if the rays touch your skin! And-and-and you always avoid mirrors…I noticed once that you purposefully dodged one, and I believe it is because you have no reflection; and your lack of one would give you away! I've never seen you sleep, but that's because you are…" Mr. Stoker paused, inhaling a short breath before whispering, "The undead."

I could not help myself; a grin split across my face, and I let out a breathy chuckle.

"Truly?" I asked incredulously. "Your observations are very astute." I added sarcastically.

Mr. Stoker merely nodded once. "I am taking this to the papers, and hopefully, we can expose these monsters before any more innocent people are murdered to slake their thirst!"

Mr. Stoker turned on his heel; sweeping up all of his papers in one hand, and started for the door. I one motion I was on my feet, and standing in front of the door; blocking his way out.

"I am sorry, Mr. Stoker, but I cannot allow for you to leave." I said with a grin.

"Excuse me, sir, but it is imperative that I get these-!"

I shook my head slowly; letting my onyx hair swish across my shoulders while I let out another giddy chuckle. "No, I don't think you understand me,"  
>"I have found proof! Vampires are real, and people deserve to know the truth-!"<p>

My smile disappeared in a single moment as my hand moved in a blur, and found Mr. Stoker's throat. With ease, I lifted him off of his feet, and held him above me. Mr. Stoker's eyes bulged in horror and his papers tumbled to the floor in a haphazard shower.

"Please-!" the little man squeaked; mouth open and gasping for air.

"Do you truly believe that you've found _real_ vampires?" I asked smoothly; a smile creeping back onto my face.

"Yes! I've seen them! You…you and your brothers are murderers!" he wheezed; clawing at my hand around his throat.

I growled through my clenched teeth; my smile turning into a sneer.

Through my touch, I could see all of his thoughts. He was not lying; he honestly believed that my brothers and I were true vampires. Slanted as his beliefs were, he'd still come to the correct conclusion. This petty little human had put together the pieces—as incorrect as they were—and written them down for the world to see.

I chuckled to myself as I saw his thought process concerning the 'no reflection' in mirrors. True, I had avoided a mirror once, but that was only because it was reflecting the sunlight straight towards me. I had walked behind the mirror when in Mr. Stoker's presence, but that was to keep the sun from illuminating the diamonds encrusted on my skin.

I saw his numerous conclusions, and fright…

I lessened my sneer, and cocked my head sideways at the sniveling man before me.

"Do you still plan on giving these papers to the press?" I asked gently.

"Y-y-yes! Archibald Constable and Company," he whispered back.

I clicked my tongue and tsked three times.

"Tut, tut, tut, we can't have that now, can we?" I drawled; another smile growing across my face.

Mr. Stoker's eyes grew wider; the whites of his eyes becoming bloodshot as he suffered from lack of oxygen. I squeezed my hand harder and harder; feeling the vertebrae reaching its breaking point.

With a jerk of one finger, I severed his spinal cord.

Mr. Stoker exhaled one last rattling breath before going limp in my hand. I released the pitiful man; letting him crumple to the floor loudly. I stepped away from the door, and looked down upon the weasel.

A few moments later, the door that I had my back to opened up; revealing Caius and Marcus standing side-by-side with puzzled looks.

"Brothers," I greeted, looking at them with a smug expression.

Marcus stared down at the crumpled man on the floor with an apathetic look. Caius stepped over the body of Mr. Stoker; being extra careful not to touch his shiny Italian-brand shoes on the grimy clothes of the now-deceased man.

"What is the meaning of this?" Caius hissed.

"Just a matter of concealment," I replied, dusting my hands off by clapping them together.

"What in hell is that supposed to mean?"

I chuckled a few times, rolling Mr. Stoker onto his back with my toe. "He knew too much,"

"Ah," Marcus replied. Satisfied that he now had an explanation, he became disinterested in the situation.

Caius stiffened. "How did he find out?"

"Through various observations," I replied. I leaned down, and swept up the pieces of parchment off of the floor, tossing them to Caius. "Read these; they're his…observations."

Caius took half of the pile, handing the other half to Marcus. Caius read the first page, then flipped to the next one, and the next one, smirking madly the farther and farther he read.

"What is this drabble? 'No visible reflection in mirrors'? 'Sleeping in coffins'? 'Turning into _bats_'? How ridiculous!" Caius rambled, smirking madly and chuckling darkly to himself.

"Brother, I don't see why this constituted killing Mr. Stoker," Marcus said quietly; taking the top page from his pile, and placing it underneath.

"As outlandish and bizarre as his research was, he was planning to publish it." I replied darkly, eyeing Marcus. Caius' head snapped upwards from his reading.

"_What?_"

"'tis the truth; he was on his way to the printers when he stopped by to share his findings with me. Interestingly enough, I don't know what gave him the idea that he could accuse us of being vampires and walk away with his life…"

"He _knew_?" Caius spluttered.

"In some form or another," I volleyed back, turning around and beginning to gather my things off of the desk. Caius stared down at the corpse with a newfound hatred.

"He was _this close_ to destroying all of us!" he hissed.

I rolled my eyes. "Don't be so doom and gloom, Caius; I was able to stop him before he published such monstrosities."

"'Monstrosity' this is not, Brother." Marcus chimed in; still reading through the pieces of parchment.

"…excuse me?"

"This is exceptionally written; though the information is false, it is impeccable. Grammar, syntax, language use…even sympathetic characters."

"What are you talking about?" I crinkled my brows; walking back over to Marcus and peering over his shoulder.

"Brother…"

I skimmed the page, and realized that Mr. Stoker had quoted verbatim a conversation that Caius and I had been having a few days previous. However, my words were being said from a 'Count Dracula'.

"He did mention something about their leader being 'self-appointed' and 'all-powerful'; you don't think…"

"Brother, I think he meant you." Marcus said, looking up from the papers at me a second time.

"He writes it as if it was documented evidence!" I exclaimed, swiping both piles from Caius and Marcus.

"What are you to do, Brother?" Caius asked quietly, eyeing the lifeless Mr. Stoker on the floor again with an icy glare.

I paused; reassembling the papers into a pile, and glancing toward the lit fire in the corner.

Was I over-exaggerating? Would anyone believe this poppycock? But on the other hand, if this was taken lightly, it could lead to mass hysteria; similar to what was experienced during the Witch hunts of the Dark Ages.

I straightened the edges of the papers, and took confident steps towards the fireplace; preparing to throw the pages in and never think of them again.

But then again, I was an admirer of the published works; fiction and non-fiction alike. And it would be such a tragic waste to destroy such a work of literature. Perhaps this problem could be solved without destruction…

An excited smile burst across my face as I turned around to face my brothers; closing the fireplace door with my foot. "I have a rather simple solution,"

"Such as?" Caius seethed.

With a wicked smirk, I took a small piece of parchment from my desk, and wrote one word upon it; tying it to the corner of the manuscript.

"Come brothers; let us hand-deliver this manuscript to Archibald Constable and Company."

"For what purpose?" Marcus asked.

I chuckled quietly. "Let's call it a contribution to literature."

"Hold on," Caius said, stopping us both in the doorway. "What about this sad excuse for a man?" Caius nudged Mr. Stoker's lifeless body with his toe roughly; rolling him onto his side. "I am so very thirsty, and we don't get our next shipment for another few days…"

"This is very true; Brothers, I do think we have a meal here." I replied, looking down at the man.

Without a moment's hesitation, Caius, Marcus, and I leaned down, and bit into Mr. Stoker; sucking liberally and relishing the taste of warm blood. Caius moved up to the carotid artery; biting down and licking up the gushing blood. Marcus stayed at the brachial point in the upper arm. I grabbed his opposing wrist, and sucked delicately; ensuring that I didn't get any of his blood on my clothing.

. . . . .

Once finished, the three of us disposed of Mr. Stoker's body in the crematorium, and walked casually down the snowy streets of London to the publishing company. We approached the drop-off window, and I knocked lightly. A small man with a scruffy beard and a pipe popped his head out.

"Yes?" He said lazily.

"_Buonasera_," I greeted, "I am here to get this manuscript published."

I held out the pile of papers tied together with a ribbon to the man, who snatched it out of the cold and retreated back into this window.

"You want this published under journalism, then?" the man asked.

"No, no, no," I smirked, leaning onto the window ledge. I placed a single gloved finger atop the word I had written.

"_Fiction_..."

(And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how Bram Stoker's, _Dracula_ came to be. *grins*)


End file.
